


Still Gonna Be Screwed Tomorrow

by LaughableLament



Series: Supernatural Poetry Month [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Barebacking, Bottom Sam, Comfort Sex, Community: spnapo, Episode Tag, Episode: s11e15 Beyond the Mat, Experimental Style, Kissing, M/M, PWP, Prose Poem, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 15:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6615112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam comes looking for comfort in his brother’s bed. Follows "Beyond the Mat."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Gonna Be Screwed Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AmyPond45](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyPond45/gifts).



Steam. Cold tiles, pink-scalded shoulders. Goosebumps. Ring-road-and-Cuervo sweat.

Gunner’s face, shankin that demon… Hot water can’t stop the shiver.

Towel down, Tyrone Power’s robe – badass, bitchy little brothers notwithstanding – make for the rack.

 

Knob snicks and dim hallway light arcs into a wedge. Silhouette.

“Sammy?”

Silence. Door swings shut. Big shuffling feet, dip in the bed. Blast of chill while Sam worms all those legs, arms in. Fetal, almost. Forehead-to-chin, fisted shirt and ankles tangled. Slip an arm underneath, neck squeeze.

“I’ve never heard a hellhound.”

_Oh, Jesus._

“I saw that one, that I gutted…”

Sam hiccups his inhale. Chin tips up, brows fold down. Lips press, jaw pokes. Same face he made on Halloween handlebars, busted arm tucked tight to his ribs.

_Big Brother’ll fix everything, right?_

Kiss his eyes. Roll with his lunge, end underneath with a handful of hair, mouthful of tongue. Sam grinds, half-mast, growing. Buck back. Swell to match.

“Sammy—”

“Gunner… was my hero too, Dean. And Cas… said yes to _Lucifer._ Who was _here_. He almost…”

Kiss his mouth shut, brain off. Sam fights.

“Please. I. Need to feel all of you.”

_Fuck._

Drag a finger down his spine. Slide against him. Dip in his boxers, get at his hole. Slick. Sink in to the second knuckle. Suck in breath.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sam.”

Which is apparently all the permission he needs. Shirts and shorts and blankets hit the floor. Sam kneels.

“Get in me, Dean. Now, God I—”

Squeeze down, dig of a thumb _oohh sonofabitch_ Sam opens, arches. Begs. Deeper-faster-harder-more. Give. Fuck like it’s his last night on Earth. Watch his fists twist spirals in the sheets, hard-muscled back work, sweaty hair curl. Rail. Til. Orgasm imminent.

“You had enough? Wanna take my load?”

Sam’s down to grunts but halfway nods.

“C’mon. Roll over so I can see you.”

Tap a hip. Kiss long, tease where he’s tender. Don’t tease where he’s eye damp. Fill him up again and and and—

“Wanna watch you lose your shit, little brother.”

Shudder-groan climbs Sam’s throat. Favorite part. Fingers tuck behind his knees, belly rolls. Play depths and angles, stroke him. Slow and smooth and quick and jerky. Reach up, thumb a nipple.

Know he’s closing, clenching, cussing.

Pet his face. “Hey. Look at me. Don’t stop. I got you, Sammy.”

Jaw drops. Every muscle locks. Fullbody spasm and ragged “Dean!” and—

 

“Ow!” Ass pinch, not the fun kind either. “What the hell!”

“Dean. You know I’d die for you. But I’m not gonna suffocate _under_ you because getting off hits you like chloroform.”

_Oh._

Sam seems back to full smartass, so…

“We _are_ gonna win. You get that.” Pull out careful. “You and me, we always do.” Roll out, robe up. “C’mon, Sammy. Family shower, huh? I been tryin to tell ya…”

**Author's Note:**

> For [spnapo](http://spnapo.livejournal.com/), April 2: Brotherly love (in its sundry interpretations). _I’ve been hoarding this prompt!!_ Inspired by last night’s airing, and a fellow fangirl’s birthday. *waves* This smut’s for you! ;)


End file.
